Used to the Pain
by Spikeybabe
Summary: Fulton lives his life day to day just trying to get over Dean Portman. Is he getting better or is he just used to the pain?


This is a separate one-shot based on a story that I'm currently writing - I know what I want but I can't get chapter 2 to work right. This is based off the song "Used to the Pain" by Tracy Lawrence. I finished this late last night so I'm hoping that it makes sense...

Used to the Pain

Fulton Reed hated that damn alarm clock. Morning was a pain in the ass anyway but six a.m. was a definite bitch to wake up to. He waved his hand around until he made contact with the snooze button. Nine more minutes of peace. He rolled across the king-sized bed and prepared to drift half-asleep until then.

The one nice thing about living alone was that he didn't have to deal with anyone complaining about the alarm going off four or five times in the morning.

The thought of Dean woke him up completely so he sat up and looked around.

God, his bedroom was a mess, he realized with horror. He didn't spend much time in the house but that was no excuse for not having a set of curtains on the window. Or the packing boxes still piled in the corner though he'd moved in a year ago.

Fulton had spent the last year running away from his heartache that he'd let some basic necessities go. His place had a television he never watched and rooms that only had boxes in them. The only three rooms he had done anything with were the bathroom, bedroom, and kitchen. And why? Dean had never been in this place, never used most of the possessions he'd carried in and dropped. So what had he been thinking?

He thought Dean would come after him.

The blaring alarm brought him out of his melancholy thoughts. Dean hadn't come after him so that was over and done with. This weekend he'd start acting as if he lived here instead of just existing.

Flipping off the alarm, he scrubbed his face with his hands. Focus, he ordered himself. Coffee, shower, breakfast, practice. Those eight a.m. practices were a bigger bitch than being awake at six. Working out and awareness were totally different things than just being half-awake. But he'd rather be somewhat awake at six than practicing at six.

He gulped his first cup of coffee standing naked in the bathroom waiting for the shower to heat up. The second he drank while shaving. Whoever created the insulated mug was his hero. Otherwise there would be a coffeemaker installed in the bathroom.

Usually caffeine was the only thing that got him moving in the morning. This morning, he had all these plans crowding his mind.

"Jesus," he muttered as the thought of Dean laughing at his addiction intruded on his thoughts. There would be a day when the thought of the man wouldn't hurt so badly. A day where he could look back at the memories with smiles instead of tears. It was the only thing that helped him endure days like these.

He yanked on his clothes, pulled his long damp hair into a ponytail, and grabbed his gear which was the only thing properly taken care of in the place. Did he have anything for breakfast? He couldn't remember the last time he'd gone grocery shopping.

The milk was fresh which surprised him. He ate some cereal, drank his third cup of coffee, and read the paper.

He drove to the rink on auto-pilot, singing aloud to Metallica. St. Paul hadn't changed in the years that he'd been gone and he was grateful for that. He wouldn't have been able to survive if his home had changed.

He pulled into the parking lot and pretended to be busy. Jeff Wilson was lurking around his gray sports car and Fulton realized unhappily that Jeff was waiting for him. He wondered if Jeff had this penciled on his calendar each month. Talk to Fulton, written in his compact handwriting. Because the image made him laugh, he decided he couldn't hide from the inevitable. If he did, Jeff would ambush him with bystanders. And if he didn't want to talk about his feelings to one man, did Jeff really think he'd want to do it with their entire team around? Hell no.

He prayed for intervention of some sort. Maybe if Jeff's cell rang, he could get out of it for a couple hours. Did Jeff really want to know what he was feeling or did it just make him feel good that he made the attempt? What would Jeff do if he decided to be honest. That Fulton didn't know why he couldn't get over Dean. That he hadn't known then that a year later he'd still be waiting. He was the one who had broken up with the man because he hadn't been happy with their situation. Wasn't it better to know where he stood than living with a relationship that wasn't working out?

Today was already bad; he could just imagine what he'd say. But maybe that would convince Jeff to leave him alone. He slammed the door of his Dodge truck and pulled his gear over his shoulder.

The tall man slammed the car door when he saw Fulton walking toward the arena. "Hey, Reed." His gear was already sitting next to the car and Jeff picked it up and flipped his blond hair out of his eyes as he waited.

"Hey, Wilson."

"Did you score that woman's number last night?"

Fulton hitched his bag higher on his shoulder. "I did." A new approach. Interesting.

"And?"

Fulton reached into his pocket and handed Jeff the woman's number. "You call her."

"You're a dumbass, Reed. But that works for me." He pocketed the number with a satisfied grin and a concerned look in his sharp green eyes. They had been teammates for almost a year now. Another two if you counted his time with the Hawks. And every time Fulton received a woman's phone number, he passed it on to another member of the team. This made him a star among the team. Every guy wanted to hang out with Fulton in the bars.

"How are you doing?" Jeff asked quietly.

"Good, man."

Jeff caught his arm, pulling him to a stop and released him quickly. Fulton smiled wryly. Just because Fulton's sexuality was hockey's worst kept secret didn't mean that he was interested in every guy he was in contact with. But they all acted like if they touched him for a second longer than necessary that he'd get the wrong idea. Or maybe that other people would have the wrong idea. He didn't know or cared.

Jeff's green eyes were intense. "Let's not get too girly and personal," he ordered, shaking his finger like a scolding teacher. "But how are you really doing?"

Fulton fought the urge to fidget. He had learned, over the past few months, that Jeff's psychology degree gave him an opinion on any unnecessary movement a person made. Crossed arms meant he was closed off and defensive. If he averted his eyes, he was lying. The list went on and on.

Another thing he learned was if Jeff was trashed, you had to ride herd on him every second. He would ruminate loudly on everyone around and had, on occasion, started a lot of brawls. Idly he wondered why they were friends as he stared at the man. Because Jeff cared and that was the only reason he thought about his feelings instead of blurting out his standard "I'm okay."

Wanting there to be no doubt, he looked the younger man straight in the eye and spoke softly. "I'm getting better or I'm just used to the pain."

The rangy man studied him closely for a moment and whatever he saw satisfied him. "Okay. All this heart-to-heart is making me twitchy."

"You're going to be a practicing psychologist someday, dude. Deal."

"Yeah, but I don't care about them."

They were weaving their way between rows of parked cars. His smile, when it came, was honest and pure. Jeff grinned sheepishly. "You know what I mean. You're my friend."

"Thanks."

Jeff reached the door first and swung it open so Fulton could precede him. "So, you want to go out tonight? Maybe you'll help me score a date."

Fulton rolled his eyes. "Fuck. Can't you get your own dates?"

"I can. But it's easier this way. Those eyes attract them." Jeff kept up the wattage of his grin as Fulton stared at him. Fulton was the closest friend he had on this team. Jeff had been with the Hawks at the same time Fulton had and he'd known that the Reed/Portman relationship was falling apart even though nobody else seemed to. Jeff had been traded to the Wilds a year and a half before Fulton.

He'd been shocked when he'd heard the news. He'd never imagined that Reed would leave Portman; everyone knew that they'd been together since high school. And then when he heard the rumor that Reed was the one who initiated the trade, he was curious. But Fulton had come to Minnesota heartbroken. When Jeff had said that the women flocked to Fulton because of his eyes, he hadn't meant that it was because they were attractive.

It was the sadness in them. He collected women because they wanted to take care of him. They naturally assumed that his heartache was because of a woman and they wanted to be the one to heal him. The only person who was going to heal Fulton's hurt was going to be Dean Portman himself.

And Jeff was going to be there to make sure everything would be okay. Either Portman would apologize for being an ass and they'd both move on or they would get back together.

Jeff was hoping for the latter. He wanted his old friend back – the man who wasn't getting used to the pain.


End file.
